


Knowing The Artist

by Laclavande



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: M/M, lesbian writes m/m, set in an AU where everything's fine but arthur is still self conscious, there's not gonna be any period appropriate homophobia bc fuck that, they're just gonna fall in love and be MAD CONFUSED about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-22 13:13:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17060432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laclavande/pseuds/Laclavande
Summary: Albert Mason lives for his art. He admires the beauty in the wild, the dangerous, the fearsome. He admires the beauty of such things as wolves, bears, alligators, and Mr. Arthur Morgan.





	1. Turkeys

Albert Mason lives for his art. He admires the beauty in the wild, the dangerous, the fearsome. He admires the beauty of such things as wolves, bears, alligators, and Mr. Arthur Morgan.

 

Arthur does not see himself the way that Albert does. He is an ugly brute. Capturing him in a photograph is a waste of time and supplies. So when Albert asked for him to pose the day they met, Arthur was surprised. But he was not hesitant. He did not argue. Albert did that to him. Made him agree to things he would usually scoff at. It was because of that unique charm of his. When strangers babble on and on to Arthur, he gets annoyed very quickly. But Mr. Mason? He could listen to him talk nonsense for hours and by the end, Arthur would still be smiling. Nothing amused him more than Albert being in awe of the world that Arthur had been growing tired of.

 

“When you think of birds, you think of flying, do you not?” Albert posed to Arthur one evening. The pair had run into each other yet again just outside of town and Albert insisted he buy him dinner. Finally, some sort of reward for saving his skin so many times. They kept meeting like this, it was strange. The first few times Arthur walked away expecting to never see him again, but he would always find him again. By now when they parted, their goodbye was not a goodbye, it was a ‘see you next time’.

So there they were, tucked away in the booth in the corner next to the staircase at the Rhodes Parlour House, both with a plate of fried catfish in front of them. Albert was more interested in the peas and potatoes on the side, he had both on his fork as he talked animatedly, while Arthur was enjoying the fish.

“Mmm… And— feathers,” Arthur said awkwardly in response to the question. 

“Yes. Feathers. Indeed,” said Albert slowly, contemplating before speaking excitedly again, “But flight!” He said, “The gift given only to birds! And bats of course, and a few strange little rodents. Yet there are birds that do not fly. The Eastern Wild Turkey is one such creature—”

“Turkeys can fly,” Arthur interrupted without thinking.

“What?”

“They’re no migratory bird, sure,” he said, chewing his food, “but if you get up on ‘em, chase ‘em, they’ll flap their wings and get away from you pretty quick.”

“Oh,” said Albert. Arthur suddenly felt bad about bursting the bubble Albert had been inflating.

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

“No never mind,” sighed Albert, then he exclaimed, “This is great news! I shall be able to capture the rare moment a _primarily_ flightless bird takes flight. Will you help me?”

“Of course.”

“Oh good. You really are such a gentleman, Mr. Morgan.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, tired of such compliments. Albert did not know him well enough. He felt almost guilty, like he was leading him on, making him think he was a better man than he was.

But Albert did know Arthur. He knew him to be kind and gentle when he wanted to be, but always strong in a way that Albert had never seen in any other. That man had the resilience of a bear. Arthur looked quite like a bear too. Big and dark and angry, rough hair, scars, but a sweet face. Soulful. And as Albert watched Arthur chuckle to himself across the table, he decided he wanted to know how that man could be such a walking contradiction.

 

 

They set out together the next morning. 

“The light is _perfect_!” Said Albert, as he carefully strapped his camera mount to his saddle. Arthur was already on his horse. He looked up at the sky. It sure was bright alright. Arthur didn’t know much about photography, but as he looked at the grey clouds to the south, he assumed that rain was not to the advantage of capturing moments in time. Though Arthur said nothing. If Albert cancelled the expedition, Arthur didn’t think they’d get another chance. Besides, it was only rain. If it came their way, they could avoid it. Arthur would watch the sky, vigilant.

“Alright,” announced Albert as he finally mounted his horse, “we’re off!”

He broke out into a trot and Arthur had to press his horse to catch up and take the lead. He guided them beyond the fields and towards some trees— a more natural-looking environment Arthur supposed, which he assumed was what Albert was after. He had seen turkeys in these parts plenty of times, they wouldn’t be hard to find. With a peeking view of Flat Iron Lake through the trees, Arthur stopped their two-man procession just shy of the tree-line, the grass beneath them was thick with little white flowers. 

“This spot alright?”

“Oh yes,” hummed Albert, “This will do very nicely. That is, of course, if we can actually find some creatures to photograph.”

Arthur swung his leg over his horse and hopped out of the saddle, landing elegantly on the soft grass. Albert followed suit a little slower and more clumsily. As he began retrieving his equipment, Arthur stalked the trees. A rainbow of squirrels raced by, black and red and grey. When he saw that there were no animals of interest in the immediate area, he walked back to Albert who was busy affixing his camera to its mount.

“No turkeys down there.”

“Then we wait,” Albert smiled happily as he carried his things past Arthur.  
“You sure? We could head up thataway where it’s more open,” the outlaw said, pointing in a random direction that Albert wasn’t looking at.

“If needs must, but this is such a wonderful spot. I think I’ll take my chances right here. I’m sure something beautiful and wild will turn up eventually.”

If Albert was a more honest man, he’d say that he wished to stay where there was less of a chance of finding a turkey because then the day might last longer.

 

A few minutes later, Arthur lit a cigarette, wondering what the hell Albert even needed him for. He rested on the crumbling wall of the ruined farm. This land had been a battlefield in the war and had remained largely untouched ever since. It was a beautiful though spooky idea that a place so scarred and tainted should be so peaceful.

Albert was just crouched behind his camera, staring into the viewfinder, lost in the tiny world that was confined within the border of the frame.

“How many photos do you have now, Mr. Mason?” Arthur asked curiously before taking another drag.  
“Oh a few dozen,” Albert replied without looking up, “Soon I’ll have enough for an exhibition, though I doubt I’ll ever complete my collection.”

“Exhibition?”

“Oh yes. The plan is to exhibit the photos in New York and hopefully, eventually, God willing, publish them in a book. Those about wildlife are only illustrated, you see.”

“That’s a fine plan, Mr. Mason.”

“Hmm I thought so too. When I came up with it that is. It all seems rather silly now,” said Albert, always so quick to dismiss himself.

“Oh I don’t know about that…” laughed Arthur, “What I do know is that your photos ain’t silly. They’re good, and people should see them. Especially folks that ain’t never seen the subjects before. That’s what this was all for, ain’t it?”

“Exactly.”

Albert finally looked back at Arthur, lowering the flash in his hand. His words made him so happy in a way he couldn't begin to explain. But Arthur wasn’t looking back at him, his eyes were to the brush in front of them.

“There!” he said, pointing. Albert whipped back around and saw them. Four turkeys a good ten feet away, moving through the trees, pecking their way across the ground. Albert steadied the nerves that always came before taking a shot. The pop and sizzle of the exploding flash pan did not startle the birds. Such docile creatures, even from this distance. Albert sighed and put a hand to his heart. He laughed lightly and then went about resetting for another shot.

“Oh I think that was very fine, Mr. Morgan. Very fine.”

“If you say so,” replied Arthur, fascinated by how captivated Albert was by a few dumb ugly birds. He began to wonder if he could take one or two back to Pearson after this was over.

“Quick, Mr. Morgan— while we still have them. I want to get a shot of one in flight!”

Arthur shook his head to himself and finished his cigarette. He walked out in front of the camera as he asked,

“What is it you want me to do, exactly?”

“Chase them, I suppose. Get them into the air!”

What would Arthur be doing if he wasn’t doing this? Probably arguing with Dutch or exacting one of his ridiculous plans and robbing some poor soul. Arthur much preferred chasing turkeys. He stepped carefully towards the birds, expecting them to take off running at any moment.

“Come on, you ugly little pests. You wanna be in a book or not?”

Arthur circled the group slowly and they calmly avoided him. Oh, so he was a turkey herder now too.

“You must be careful, Mr. Morgan. As roguishly handsome as you are, it’s not you I want in frame,” joked Albert.

“To hell with this,” Arthur muttered before pulling his revolver from its holster. Before Albert could protest, he fired two shots at the ground near the birds and they all ran, breaking off into pairs, running in tight circles. None went into the air, so Arthur picked up a stick and chucked it at a couple of turkeys. Albert, who was watching this all unfold, was quite alarmed to say the least. This was not the method he had expected. But it worked. The stick hit one of the birds (only just, and very lightly) and it took a few more steps, flapping its wings, and it went into the air. Utterly delighted, Albert took the photo. He hoped it wouldn’t come out blurry, and was about to ask for another just in case when they heard the deep boom of thunder that had Albert’s attention pulled from the viewfinder and to the sky. Arthur had been too busy watching Albert and herding turkeys to notice the storm coming in. It suddenly became very dark and a second later and they were being pelted.

“Oh!” cried Albert, “Oh no!” 

He tried desperately to protect his things from the rain. Arthur took off his coat as he ran back to Albert and covered the camera with it. Albert smiled appreciatively. Then his smile faltered as he lost focus. The shape of Arthur’s arms were showing through his wet shirt, everything else hidden by his cotton vest. Albert admired the level of physicality that he himself could never reach as he clung onto his sopping hat for dear life. A stray thought was given to how big the rest of him might be, but then Arthur spoke over the sound of thunder and noisy rain,

“At least you got the picture.”


	2. Salmon

Arthur was following the Kamassa River up through Roanoke, admiring the tall mossy trees, listening to the calming sound of the babbling river, and taking in the smell of damp earth. You don’t get smells like that out West. He pulled on the reins to avoid a mess of sticks and stumps left by beavers when he heard a voice just up ahead.

“Yesyesyes— no,” said the voice, turning from excited to very disappointed,

“Have to be quicker on the draw.”

It was Albert Mason yet again, talking to himself, yet again. Arthur smiled to himself, curious to see what the photographer had gotten himself into this time. He rode quietly up to him. Hunched behind his camera in his usual posture in front of a beaver dam, Albert did not turn around. So Arthur leaned on the horn of his saddle as he said,

“Mornin’, Mr. Mason.”

“Oh! Gracious,” said Albert, stumbling back from his camera, clutching at his heart, “Good morning to you too, sir,” he greeted with a slight bow.

Arthur didn’t hide his amusement as he climbed out of the saddle and hitched his horse by Albert’s. When he walked back, Albert was already glued to the viewfinder again.

“You know,” he said adjusting the lens in front, “I’m beginning to suspect that you may be following me. Like guilt follows a sinner.”

Arthur chuckled and sighed, his hands resting on his gunbelt.

“Oh if I had the time, Mr. Mason,” he joked, “If I had the time…”

Arthur took a deep breath. The air was so clean up here.

“What is it you’re taking pictures of today? Beavers?”

“Naturally. This is a fine spot for it, though that’s done already. I got a few _terrific_ shots of the critters, but something else caught my attention, you see, and— ah!”

Suddenly distracted, Albert pointed at the dam,

“There! You see?”

Slow to follow, Arthur saw nothing, not even a beaver. Having missed yet another opportunity, Albert sighed.

“There are fish leaping out of the water and _over_ the dam, heading upstream. It’s remarkable. I’ve been trying to get a shot of the marvellous feat in action, but I’m afraid I’m much too slow.”

“That’ll be sockeye salmon,” said Arthur, leaning over the bank to inspect the moving water,

“Prob’ly found yourself at a salmon run.”

“Have I indeed? Is it dangerous?”

Arthur chuckled,

“It’s just fish, Mr. Mason. A migration I think.”

“In that case, I don’t expect to be needing your assistance today, Mr. Morgan. Don’t let me keep you,” he said in a way that was not uninviting, he just didn’t want to waste Arthur’s time. In fact, Arthur took it as an invitation, and he was yet to turn down Albert’s company.

“Yeah,” Arthur drawled, “I think I’ll stay anyway.”

 

Leaving Albert to his mission, Arthur set up fishing a dozen paces downriver. The clear water accented with white foam was teeming with life, it didn’t take long for him to get a bite on the lure. Having been watching him from out of the corner of his eye, Albert noticed him reeling something in.

“If it’s a salmon I’d appreciate you returning it to the water,” he said, “God knows I need all the chances I can get with this ridiculous endeavour. Why did I think this was a good idea in the first place?”

It was indeed a salmon. Bright pink and huge, Arthur reluctantly tossed it back into the water in Albert’s direction, encouraging it to take that leap of faith. The next fish he caughta few minutes later was a little blue perch.

“Nice to meet you,” he said to the wriggling fish in his grasp, “You’re mighty pretty ain’t ya?”

Overhearing him, Albert frowned from behind the camera, totally bemused. Arthur collapsed his pole, done with fishing for now, and he wandered over with his fish to a tree near Albert that grew at the edge of the riverbank.

“How’s that salmon picture comin’ along?” he asked the photographer as he dropped his satchel.

“I’m going to get this next one. I can feel it.”

His words spoke of optimism, but in his voice, Arthur heard nothing but doubt.

“Good luck.”

Arthur sat down with his back up against the tree. The ground was still damp from the early morning rain and the bits of dead leaves stuck to his hands when he sat down, but Albert was in front of him. He watched him for a moment, watching how he fiddled with the lens and peeked over the camera before returning to the viewfinder, so focused on his task. Arthur wondered if he could ever muster that same passion and focus for something for himself. Then Arthur pulled out his journal and started sketching the fish at his feet. He usually drew from memory, so took the opportunity to be more accurate with better details.

After a few salmon-less moments, Albert tore himself away from his camera to see what Arthur was doing. He didn’t have a very clear view of the page, but he could see that there was a partially completed fish and a horse skilfully drawn there in pencil. Albert hummed to himself. It all made sense now. Arthur appreciates the world the same as him, but he understands it better. He knows things, actually knows them, and he puts his knowledge into action every day of his life. He understands the world so well he can capture the likeness of something as complicated as a fish with nothing but a pencil. And he makes it look easy. Watching him, Albert feels a spark of inspiration.

But Arthur had heard him hum, and looked up. Albert expected him to tell him to mind his own business, but instead he shouted,

“That’s a god damn grizzly!”

“What?!” Sputtered Albert, stricken with fear. Just like the horses, who whinnied behind them. As he turned to look where Arthur had been looking, Arthur started stepping towards the horses to retrieve his shotgun. The beast was on the opposite bank. Seems the bear wanted to go fishing too. It growled a frightening roar that shook Albert all the way through and chilled his blood. It was the biggest animal he’d ever seen. He stood there, frozen, as the bear stood on its back legs, appearing even bigger, and it continued to grunt and growl.

“Oh d-dear,” Albert managed to stutter, “M-Mr. Morgan!”

“Whatever you do, don’t run,” came Arthur’s calm voice from behind him. He held his hands up as if surrendering, though one held his loaded gun. Still in such a calm voice, he told Albert,

“Just start steppin’ toward me. Slowly… Not that slow.”

Arthur’s voice helped to settle his nerves a little, and Albert took careful steps towards Arthur and the spooked horses, both men trying to look as non-threatening and as unlike prey as possible. All the while, the grizzly bear was still angry. It let out one last roar before charging across the river, water splashing up everywhere. Arthur began to lower his gun, but seeing the distance between the bear and Albert, he decided to do a stupid thing instead. Just as the bear reached the other side of the river, their side of the river, Arthur broke into a short sprint and tackled Albert to the ground, protecting his body with his own. The wind was knocked out of the both of them and panic fluttered in Albert’s chest until he realised that it wasn’t the bear that was on top of him. Another noise came from the grizzly, but it was bounding into the trees. A bluff, and one a little more terrifying than Bill Williamson’s poker bluffs. Arthur gave a sigh of relief next to Albert’s ear. He rested on one hand as his face hovered over Albert’s. He swallowed hard, feeling uncomfortable with the intense eye contact, yet he didn’t pull away. Albert felt Arthur’s hot breath on his cheeks while Arthur felt none because Albert hadn’t taken an outward breath since the last one was knocked out of him.

“Are you okay?” Arthur asked, not intending for his voice to be such a hoarse whisper.

“You just saved my life again,” squeaked Albert as he finally began to breathe.

“Yeah. Don’t know why I keep doing that,” Arthur said with a groan as he got up and held his hand out for Albert to take, “You say you’re the fool, but maybe _I’m_ the fool for allowin’ you to keep on **_bein’_** a fool,” he growled, a tone of genuine anger in his voice as he flapped the hand that had just held Albert’s dismissively.

“By your determination, it seems we're both fools then.”

“I reckon so.”

A moment passed in silence. Arthur picked up his shotgun and calmed the horses. Albert picked up his hat and dusted it off.

“Then you’ll be pleased to know you won’t be a fool for much longer,” he said. Arthur looked at him dumbly, not following.

“I go back to New York next week. I am almost completely out of money, have had enough near-death experiences to last the rest of my silly little life, and I think I have enough photographs now for that exhibition.”

“ _I_ could lend you some money, Mr. Mason.”

“I’m sure you could,” laughed Albert lightly, “but I couldn’t accept. You’ve done far too much already. You know I’m beginning to suspect that you _want_ me in your debt.”

He gave Arthur a sly smile as he went to pack up his equipment. He was definitely done with these stupid salmon.

“Next week, huh?” Said Arthur, absently scratching at his chin with his thumb.

“Yes. I’m glad I caught you actually, I was afraid we’d not see each other before I left. I depart from Saint Denis on the SS Rosmerta on the 18th.”

“Well, I’ll try to be there to see you off.”

“Oh you don’t—” Albert began, but thought better of it and said, “it’s been a pleasure getting to know you, Mr. Morgan.”

“And you, Mr. Mason, as strange as you are.”

 

 

The truth was, no one back home was supportive of Albert’s little adventure. He had security in New York, a good life by all accounts. No one understood why he wanted to leave. But Arthur seemed to. This one very capable stranger understood what he was trying to accomplish and actually supported him. He had saved his life and livelihood many times in many ways.

 

He hoped to see him in Saint Denis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! And for your support on the first chapter!! wow!! I love this fandom and I love this ship


	3. New York

Albert ate the last of the little cornet that his ice cream had been served in as he stared out at the dark river. Dock workers were going about their day, carrying things back and forth all around him. But Albert stayed still. His boat would leave soon, within the hour. But he couldn’t board yet, he was waiting for someone. Arthur had always been there when he needed him and he hoped that was still true. He pulled out the little photograph from his pocket that he had put there to keep from getting ice cream on it. Albert held it delicately, not wanting to get a scratch or mark on it. With a sigh, he stood up from the bench. He looked at his pocket watch. He put the photograph away again. He picked up his bags and turned around and there he was. Albert smiled at the sheepish Arthur.

“Said I’d come,” he said.

Albert set his bags down again as Arthur came closer.

“I’m—I’m glad you did.”

“Just wanted to say…” Arthur paused, making Albert nervous as he decided on what to say, “Remember me when you’re famous.”

Albert smiled,

“Oh how could I ever forget _you_ , Mr Morgan!”

“Don’t want any sorta credit though, low profile and all. I know you’re hellbent on repayin’ me in some way, but—”

“I understand.”

Arthur looked behind Albert, at the chatting travellers on the deck of a big steamboat.

“That your boat?” he asked, nodding in its direction.

“It is,” Albert sighed and said softly, “I should go.”

Arthur nodded again and looked down at his boots as Albert picked up his bags—the camera bag that Arthur had once chased a coyote for, and one small suitcase. He only took one step before spinning back around, the action of which caused Arthur to look up.

“Come to New York with me.”

“What?”

“People say it’s the greatest city in the world, though I’m not sure what constitutes a great city. An abundance of crime, perhaps. Streets so crowded that people step on each other.”

Arthur raised a hand to get him to slow down.

“Why would you want me to go to New York?” he asked, totally confused.

“Well, I— I thought…”

He thought Arthur was his friend.

“You’ve been very good to me, Mr Morgan. _Arthur_ ,” he said his first name so sweetly, testing the sound of it, “I daresay you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, though that’s not saying much. This project would not have happened if it weren’t for you.”

Arthur was still looking at him dumbly. He was obviously not keen on the idea. Albert must’ve gotten confused somewhere along the way, mistaking politeness for friendship, intolerable oaf that he was. Albert sighed, giving up on the proposition.

“And now that this is my going-away,” he said, courage he’d never felt before beginning to swell and consume the disappointment, “I might as well tell you something. If this something angers you, it doesn’t matter. I’ll begone anyway.”

“Mr Mason,” Arthur gasped, overwhelmed. He had no idea how much more overwhelmed he was about to be.

“I love you,” Albert confessed, his heart racing, “And I—I think I’m _in_ love with you.”

There was a long silence. The two men just stared at each other. Albert wanted to run for the boat. 

“You’re thinking. What are you thinking…?” he asked Arthur, desperate for any kind of response. Arthur was stunned, but inside his mind was racing as fast as his heart as he looked back on all their encounters, and then he realised something.

“I’m just thinkin’ ‘bout why you would think tellin’ me _that_ would make me angry,” he finally said, and took a deep breath before saying,

“I reckon I… Love you too? Oh, this is confusin’.”

“Oh I know! Isn’t it? It’s mad!”  
“Crazy!” Arthur said with a laugh. An honest laugh that calmed Albert tremendously. He felt the same. He felt the same and Albert couldn’t be happier.

“You saved my life, Arthur. And in doing so you also changed it. I’m a different man because of you. I’m still a fool, I’ll always be a fool, you know that, but I feel more complete now. I’m becoming who I’m meant to be!”

“Because of _me_?”

Albert had changed Arthur’s life too. There were a few things that caused Arthur to keep going, like love and loyalty. Arthur could walk to the end of the Earth if someone he loved needed him to. But the way Albert saw the world, it had rubbed off on Arthur. If he walked to the end of the Earth now, he’d enjoy the journey. Being in Albert’s company also had that effect. He was just so happy when he was with him.

Arthur looked at the truly good man in front of him. A man with a significant _purpose_ and the rest of his life to look forward to. A man whose few months away from home have been more important than Arthur’s entire life.

Arthur did not deserve a love of this kind. He hadn’t deserved Mary, and he wasn’t deserving of Albert. Maybe he _had_ changed Albert, but maybe that wasn’t a good thing, and maybe if he stayed with him any longer he’d change him too much, turn him bad.

Arthur was spiralling into panic, he had to get away. Away from Albert, away from this damn city and all its people who crowded and stared.

“I gotta go.”

“No,” whispered Albert. The happiness he had felt a moment ago was already beginning to feel like a dream. What had he done wrong?

“I got people I should get back to,” Arthur said carefully, “And you don’t need me. I’d be useless to you, a liability. I’m a man of the country, I belong out there… I hope your exhibition goes well. I know it will. Goodbye… _Albert_.”

And he took a step backwards to leave.

“Wait a moment,” Albert said, catching his arm. Arthur looked down at the hand just as Albert took it away again.

“I want you to have this.”

And he carefully retrieved the little photograph from his pocket and held it out gingerly. It was a picture of Arthur crouching over some turkeys in his attempt to get them in front of the camera. He was smiling in the photo. Arthur didn’t remember smiling.

“So you can remember that it wasn’t _always_ about saving me from my own stupidity.”

Arthur could only nod his thanks. Then he walked away, looking back once to smile as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry


	4. Dominoes

Arthur spent the next few weeks trying to go about as normal, or as normal as one can in a gang of outlaws. He went on a lot of solo hunting trips, to which Pearson was mighty grateful, but he’d spend hours in the wilderness with his journal in his lap, rereading old entries and writing new ones. The picture of himself that Albert had given him was tacked next to his lucky horseshoe and the other picture of those wolves. He tried not to look at them every night, but he always did.

Tilly noticed him sitting against a tree near the chickens one day when she was playing dominoes with Mary-Beth. She watched as he tilted his head back with his eyes closed and she could have sworn she’d heard him sigh. The girls finished their game and when Mary-Beth headed back to the tent victorious, Tilly approached Arthur. He was sketching in his journal again. Little doodles of chickens it seemed, but on the other page was a neat portrait of a bearded man in a woven hat and a whole lot of words in Arthur’s looping hand.

“What’s wrong, Arthur?” She asked him gently. The outlaw looked up at her. 

“Ah, it’s nothin’.”

“You sure? It’s just that you ain’t been much yourself lately…”

He knew what she was talking about. He couldn’t help it. After everything Albert had said— what they both said— there were times during the day that he just couldn’t shake Albert out from his mind. As the weeks went on he kept expecting it to get better, that he’d forget about him, but that just wasn’t the case.

“I had to say goodbye to a friend,” he mumbled, “It’s nothin’.”

“A friend? Someone not from camp? Oh Arthur, you do surprise me,” she teased and knelt down on the ground beside him, “Was they a good friend?”

“A very good friend,” Arthur confided, “I’ll get over it. He ain’t dead or anything… S’pose I’ve just been thinkin’ ‘bout him.”

“In that case, I’m sure he’s doin’ well. Try think about that. Might stop you missin’ him so bad.”

Tilly Jackson. Sweet girl. She was right, Albert was well. Well better off without Arthur. That was the reason for which he had denied himself happiness so many times in his life, but it was not a reason that gave him much comfort, especially with Albert. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Idiot. Fool. Ass. Were you dropped as an infant? What the hell is wrong with you…? You didn’t go to New York. Great. What an excellent idea that was. So now you’re stuck in Saint Denis. What paradise! You have no money, no horse, nowhere to stay. You ass. You absolute ninny. You’re going to die in Lemoyne. **_Lemoyne_**!”

Albert strained the name of what might just be his least favourite state besides the state of despair that he was currently in.

“You good, mister?” a random man asked from a window when he heard him complaining out loud in the street.

“No. Not really.”

“Well… Good luck to ya.”

And the man closed the window. Albert suddenly appreciated Arthur’s rare kindness even more. He knew within his heart of hearts that if he was there right then, he would not have closed the window—he’d try to help in any way he could, even if they’d never met before and he was a complete stranger. God, he loved that man. Since coming to that realisation, his foolish brain wouldn’t let him forget it. Albert slumped down with his things on some steps, much to the chagrin of a police officer stationed on the corner who wanted nothing more than for whom he deemed a madman to go away.

Albert had made a wish when he watched the SS Rosmerta depart. He had made a wish on that romantic notion that fate would bring him and Arthur together once more as it always had, and that Arthur would defy whatever it was that was holding him back. Now sitting outside alone in the dark it all seemed kind of stupid really.

Maybe he should have let it go, let Arthur go. Maybe he should have gotten on that boat and never looked back. Arthur had always joked that Albert had some sort of death wish, maybe this was part of that, a form of self-destruction. Being rejected has been known to do that to a man.

“Hey mister, you want a game?”

The voice had come from behind him and Albert turned around to see three men in a little gazebo.

He won a few bucks playing dominoes with them that night. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and Albert took it as a sign that his luck was changing. Fate was in his favour after all. He figured he might as well keep going with the project, for his art was still what he lived for.


	5. Damsel Apparent

The rain was unrelenting. It pounded on Albert’s shoulders as he rode, and the road was muddy and hard to go through even with a good horse. Albert had an eight dollar horse. She was old and slow and didn’t always obey, and with the rain and mud, she was even worse.

“Please just go,” Albert whined to the animal, “ _Please_.”

The horse just stamped in place, sinking deeper into the mud. Albert was cold, wet, frustrated, and a little bit lost. He hung his head, letting the cold water run down the back of his neck.

“Fine. Fine!”

And he got down from the horse, his boots squelching when they sank into the mud. He took the reins and started pulling, but the stubborn mare wouldn’t budge. Then when Albert was least expecting it, she got spooked by _something_ and bolted, ripping Albert’s hands from the reins and knocking him to the ground. He lay there, flat on his back as the rain bombarded his face.

“I want… To die…”

“That can certainly be arranged.”

Albert bolted upright. In front of him was a man in an ill-fitted duster, one sleeve was rolled to the wrist while the other reached his knuckles. At the end of the arm with the rolled sleeve was a revolver, aimed between Albert’s terrified eyes.

“I think you know how this works. Hand over your valuables or die. Or… Did you actually want me to shoot you? Seems you was beggin’ for it. I really don’t care how we do this, but I’m giving you the choice, mister. I’m merciful, see?”

Albert was shaking. He couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or with fear, though it was probably both. Another bandit came up the road, leading his stupid horse.

“I’m merciful but I ain’t patient.”

“I don’t have anything,” Albert managed to say, his voice warbled from his shivering.

“Liar. Look at you,” spat the first man. Albert wasn’t sure what he meant by that. He probably looked a sorry state there in the mud, defeated and dirty.

“What’s in the bags?” The man with his horse asked as he was already removing them from the saddle. _His camera_. _His pictures._ Now was the moment when Albert was most afraid. He sat up straighter in the mud, which was noticed by the man with the gun. They both had guns.

“Oh there’s somethin’ alright,” he grinned. They removed both his bags and started rummaging through them. One of them pulled out the camera and inspected it closely.

“It— it’s broken,” Albert sputtered, “Useless. Worthless.”

The man with his camera eyed him carefully and the other said,

“Take it.”

“No!”

As Albert said that, there was a gunshot, the sound of the rain dampening what remained of its echo. He squeezed his eyes shut at the sound, thinking he had died.

“Walk away… Now… And you’ll live.”

Arthur Morgan. Albert’s eyes shot open. The feelings of relief and longing were so intense he could have cried. Though when he had made his romantic wish that they’d find each other, he wasn’t exactly hoping to be robbed. Arthur had fired his gun into the air to get their attention and now he certainly had it. Both bandits were aiming at him, a standoff.

“Didn’t your momma ever teach you to count, mister? There’s two of us and one of you,” sneered the one in the duster.

“Oh I can count,” said Arthur. His voice was low, and laced with the ferocity which since their encounter in Roanoke, Albert recognised as that of a bear,

“I’ll show you. On the count of three, I’ll kill you both.”

The men only adjusted their grips.

“One… Two…”

“Aw I ain’t gettin’ shot for a broken fucking box,” said one, “Let’s go.”

And he lowered his gun and started heading for the woods. The other was slow to follow, but in the end, he did, muttering,

“Maniac…” as he walked away.

Albert was breathing heavily and put a muddy hand to his heart as the rain began to slow, leaving a faint handprint on his vest. Arthur watched the men leave until they were out of sight, then he walked over to the photographer. When he had ridden through the woods and seen the commotion, he hadn’t expected it to be Albert on the ground. He hadn’t expected to ever see Albert again anywhere besides the pages of his journal. And despite his always being on his mind and missing him terribly, Arthur hadn’t been sure if he even _wanted_ to see him again.

“What the **_hell_** are you doing here!?” he asked him, giving him a hand up.

“Being a distressed damsel once again apparently. Thank you, by the way.”

“No problem,” Arthur mumbled back. Albert wiped his hands on his trousers and picked up his hat which had fallen from his head and tried to shake the mud from it. Then Arthur remembered himself and said,

“ _Albert_ , why aren’t you in New York?”

Albert thought he was angry, that he never meant what he said in Saint Denis. But then he saw his eyes. They were so soft and full of _love_. Albert was sure he had the same look in his eyes. The rain stopped completely and the sun came out, shining on them both.

“I didn’t get on the boat,” he said with a shrug and a laugh, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“You didn’t get on the boat? But you spent the last of your money on that ticket!”

“I know, but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave you.”

Arthur’s heart broke and mended itself at the same time at those words. He was being sincere. For whatever reason, Albert Mason was in love with him, truly and completely, and Arthur could no longer deny himself that love any more than he could deny himself the necessities of life. Against his lesser judgement that inhibited him from doing this sooner, Arthur dove forward and kissed Albert who dropped his hat in shock, dirtying it all over again. Instantly recognising what was happening, utter joy mixed with leftover adrenaline ignited a flurry of fireworks within Albert. It was dizzying. His heart was beating so fast and so hard, for a moment he thought it might give out. Oh, the irony of his being close to death now after all those occasions where Arthur had saved him before. If kissing Arthur Morgan killed him, he’d die a happy man.

So overcome with affection and longing, Arthur could barely sense the self-doubt that always lingered, and as they kissed, his insecurity and fear dissipated into nothingness. All he felt was the buzzing on his lips as they moved against Albert’s, the big hands that cupped his face and waist, and the pounding of his heart in his chest. It was rough but sweet. Terrifying, but comforting. This kiss was the first thing in a long damn time that made any god damn sense to Arthur. He would love this fool of a man forever.

 

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and all your kudos and comments I LOVE YOU!!! not as much as arthur and albert love each other but STILL!! THANK YOU!


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